


Time Well Borrowed

by BabylonsFall



Series: Prompts [2]
Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Getting Together, Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 20:59:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11952531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabylonsFall/pseuds/BabylonsFall
Summary: Everyone has their marks; promised nicknames from future loved ones. Some get them all at once. Some get them through the years. Some are a little more obvious than others. They all keep their promise though - and for three Librarians, that's enough.





	Time Well Borrowed

**Author's Note:**

> So I was given this prompt: _there are many versions of soulmates things, but one I like is when you have the nicknames your soulmate(s) will give you written on your body (mainly chest, may be hips, back, fingers...). Most people have 3/4, some have more, some have less... (About ships, I like Evlynn and Jassekiel or any LITxLIT, but write it with the ship you want :))_ from [ athaliered](https://athaliered.tumblr.com/)
> 
> and here's where I went with it! This is my first attempt at a soulmate fic, so it might be a little rough. And it is perhaps on the more gen-side of Jassekiel, but the intent was there at least! Hope you enjoy!

Cassandra’s first mark was simple, clean, clear, and the most standard, unhelpful mark it could possibly be. ‘Cassie,’ curled right over her collarbone, a dark, warm brown against her pale skin.

She loved it.

Not because of what it said - she would’ve been just as happy with the common ‘sweetheart’ or something long or poetic (she’d seen ‘my sun, my heart’ once, which, when she was little she thought was adorable and as she got older… still thought was adorable. If a little impractical) - but because of what it meant.

She had someone, out there. Someone she’d fit right up against, in someway, some vital way for the both of them. Whether that ended up being romantic or platonic didn’t much matter for her.

As she grew, as she settled into someone that could be defined and sent out into the world to find her other piece, two more appeared, one hiding in the curve of her shoulder blade (which took her way too long to notice honestly. Odd angles and all that) which read ‘darling,’ dark and crisp against her skin, and other slashing across her hip, ‘partner in crime,’ stark and large. That one made her laugh.

She didn’t get any more, and that was fine by her.

And, to her horror - and her joy, after the initial shock to her system - they stayed just as dark, just as clear, through her diagnosis. Through her treatments. Through the endless meetings and appointments - her marks remained, reminding her that, somewhere, someone was waiting to meet her. She had to be around for that, so like hell she was laying down just yet, despite what her parents seemed to want, without having the words to express themselves.

She was wanted, still, somewhere. And on days when looking herself in the eye in the mirror was perhaps a little too hard, she had no problem looking at her first mark instead.

* * *

Ezekiel thought it was kind of unfair when he was little, his marks. He got the usual - a bit of his name, someway or another, like most people. ‘Jones,’ tucked under his ribcage on the right side. ‘Zeke,’ in the fine skin on the inside of his left ring finger. ‘Master thief’ showed up later (not much. Handful of years after his first showed up when he was five), right over his heart - which. Thanks universe. That was fun explaining to his foster mom when that popped up when he was nine.

Sure, by then he was working on honing his already impressive pick-pocket skills, but he wasn’t exactly advertising that. He was trying to make this whole foster system thing work, after all.

Later, he found it funny, but didn’t pay much attention to it, or any of them, really. His handlers all called him Jones. So did his arresting officers. He’s pretty sure they would’ve said something if they had ‘jackass’ or any number of creative insults he came up with written somewhere on them.

A handful of contacts called him Zeke. Fewer called him a thief in anything other than derision. None called him a master.

It was nice, sometimes, to remember that the marks were there of course - Ezekiel Jones may be just fine on his own, but being on his own also meant he could admit that sometimes, he wouldn’t mind… maybe, to look to his right and see someone there. It never lasted long, that sense of… nostalgia. For something he hadn’t had yet.

In his more practical moments, he knew at some point, having the marks at all meant he’d meet someone, eventually, who’d fill that space. He couldn’t quite figure out if he was looking forward to it, or dreading it. The idea of someone at his back was both freeing and suffocating, and he was kind of hoping to put it off as long as possible to avoid figuring it out either way.

* * *

Jacob had two marks. He… well. He’d like to say he liked them. He liked the _idea_ of them, anyway. What they meant, what they promised.

But really. ‘Stone,’ scribbled between his ribs on the left side, and ‘cowboy,’ curled around his right ankle. They were… well, useless was perhaps a little harsh. Most people got fairly innocuous marks - nicknames they’d had since childhood, pet names used by everyone and their dog it seemed - but his, especially as he got older, just confirmed what he already knew by the time he hit highschool.

He was staying right where he was. Tucked close to home, where people called him cowboy as a joke, needling and elbowing him good naturedly, even as he encouraged it with as much good ol’ boy charm as he could manage. Called him Stone when they were mad at either him or the elder and he just happened to be around to yell at instead of his dad.

They were never really a sticking point for him. He figured, with how standard his were, it’d be up to his partner to decide to let him in on what was going on when it happened. And that was fine. He could wait. But he wasn’t going to hold his breath in the meantime.

(Maybe, some nights, he did, holding his breath and watching the sky for some kind of sign that those same stars weren’t all he’d ever see, but no one needed to know about that. He could pretty reasonably blame it on whiskey, regardless.)

At some point, he became so stupidly grateful that ‘Jake’ had never been one of them.

* * *

It took them way too long to notice, all things considered.

But Jacob used ‘darlin’,’ not ‘darling’. Ezekiel called her his partner in crime in his head, and when Eve or Jenkins asked, since that’s how he thought of her, rather than a practical nickname. It took awhile for Jacob to react to ‘cowboy’ with anything other than defensiveness - took awhile to hear the affection in it. ‘Master thief’ didn’t click until after Ezekiel had been through hell and back - and, later, when he explained what was under the rose tattoo over his heart, which he’d gotten so looking in the mirror wouldn’t make him do a double take and catch his breath, Jacob had just looked at him with heartbroken eyes and a soft smile.

(Much, much later, he got ‘master thief’ tattooed on the back of his right shoulder. He’s pretty sure Jacob cried, despite his squawking and denial later. Cassie caught it on camera, so he could deny it all he wanted. They knew.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated! Come say hi on[ tumblr](https://distinctivelibrarians.tumblr.com)!
> 
> (title is from Haight Street by Anberlin)


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